


Not Much to Ask from Somebody

by nokochaoli



Category: DCU (Comics), Green Lantern (Comics), The Flash (Comics)
Genre: Dialogue Heavy, Fluff, M/M, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-16
Updated: 2017-10-16
Packaged: 2019-01-18 01:55:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12378471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nokochaoli/pseuds/nokochaoli
Summary: In which Hal finally gets some downtime and crashes on Barry's couch.





	Not Much to Ask from Somebody

Hal wakes up to the soft sound of typing and a warm, savory smell that vaguely reminds him of something brown. Maybe beef. After blinking away the sleepy feeling in his eyes, he stretches, feet pressing against the arm of Barry’s couch as his arms reach past the other arm. Slumping back into the cushions, he frowns down at the blanket draped over him with a skeptical eyebrow raised.

“Welcome back to the land of the conscious.”

Hal spares a quick glance over at where Barry’s sequestered himself in the chair, surrounded by files and laptop balanced precariously on his knee.

“Consciousness is overrated.” His own voice sounds muffled and sleepy even to his own ears. He kicks the blanket off, shifting slightly as the cooler air hits him all at once. It almost makes his joints ache. Almost.

“Really?” Barry’s tone is pure sarcasm with zero rising intonation. “Cause I’d beg to differ.” After a pause and some shuffling of papers, “And I’d consider myself a frequent flyer of unconsciousness.”

Hal half laughs, looking over at Barry once more. “Maybe that’s part of the problem.” He tries to swallow past the cotton dry feeling in his mouth before continuing. “Ask me again when I’m actually awake. Might have a different answer then.”

Barry shakes his head, chuckling to himself as he makes a few notes on the paper with a pen. He brings the pen about halfway to his mouth before pausing, eyebrows raised as blue eyes stare directly at Hal for the first time since he woke. “Oh yeah. There’s water and aspirin on the table if you want.” His head nods in the direction of the glass of water.

Hal glances at the water, ice more than half melted and condensation dripping onto the coaster.

Barry brings the pen to his mouth, holding it there as he starts typing on the laptop once more. He speaks around the pen, syllables slightly muffled. “Wasn’t sure which painkiller you’d prefer, so if you’d want something like Advil or Tylenol, just let me know.”

Sitting up gingerly, Hal gives a half-hearted snort. “Aren’t you kinda buried under paperwork?”

Barry just shoots him the most are-you-fucking-serious look a person could with a pen in their mouth. _It has to be the eyebrows_ , Hal thinks.

Hitting a few more keys, Barry shifts in his chair, carefully setting the laptop down on the floor. He takes the pen from his mouth and clips it carefully collar of his shirt,, moving to stand. “What do you want?”

“What’s on the stove?” Hal asks, leaning back into the couch and suddenly missing the stuffy warmth of the blanket.

Barry glances at the clock. “Nothing you can have until a good fifteen minutes later.”

Hal sighs, closing his eyes in defeat. “What’s best for a fever then?”

He can practically hear Barry’s concern buzzing at him as he feels a palm tentatively press to his forehead. Then it’s Barry’s turn to sigh. “Tylenol would probably be better, then.”

That tone of voice makes it difficult for Hal not to feel guilty, like he’s somehow failed some sort of unspoken test. He opens his eyes to stare at the glass as a drop of condensation slides down the side.  
Barry grabs the bottle of aspirin from the table, heading down the hall. There’s a metallic click of a medicine cabinet, some distant rattling of medicine bottles, and then the distinct sound of the bathroom door closing. When Barry turns the corner, he lifts his hand, pausing briefly as his chin tilts up ever so slightly. “Heads up.”

Hal blinks, snapping out of his own thoughts and lifting his hands. Whatever it is Barry chucks at him flies at a strange trajectory, causing Hal to lean back, shoulders pressing into the back cushion of the couch, in order to catch it. It’s certainly not a bottle full of pills. Hal lifts it up to peer dubiously at it.

“A thermometer? Really?”

“Yes, really,” Barry replies dryly. He opens a brand new box of medicine with a slide of his fingers, discarding the cardboard box into the recycling bin in the kitchen. “Take your temperature first, then you can take medicine.” He pops the cap off the bottle, tearing off the foil and fishing the ball of cotton out.

“What am I? Five?”

“Sometimes.”

“Wow. Thanks. You know, on second thought, I don’t really need Tylenol that badly.” And that came off sounding far more petulant than he’d meant it to.

“Hal.” Barry’s eyebrows pinch together at the slight shift in Hal’s tone.

“Bar.”

“Hal, come on.”

“Bar, I’m fine. It’s not that big of a deal.”

“I’m not the one who’s making it into a big deal.”

Hal sighs, tossing the thermometer onto the table beside the glass. It skids a few inches further than he intended. “If I take my temperature, you’re going to make a huge fuss about seeing some doctor.” He folds his arms across his chest. “I just wanted some downtime.”

Barry just stands there, staring at the thermometer on the table, almost like he’s frozen in time. The tension in his shoulders refuses to let up, matching the furrow in his brow. That is, until all at once, he sighs, and the tension seems to melt off him. He steps closer to the couch, making sure to keep the table between him and Hal. “Listen, I know you’ve been busy. You’ve been running pretty much nonstop for what? Two, three months?” He pauses, as if waiting for Hal to chime in and confirm.

When he doesn’t, Barry just sighs, sitting down on the opposite side of the couch and examining the bottle of Tylenol closely. “I just figured with all the built up stress, maybe it’s your body’s way of telling you to take it easy. Or at least, that’s what I’m hoping.” He glances up at Hal, blue eyes tentatively meeting his. “I don’t want to take your downtime away, but I don’t want you to get worse. And I just…” He frowns down at the bottle for a moment. “Well, it’d really suck if the first real downtime you’d got in months had to be spent feeling sick.”

After another pause, Barry holds out the bottle of Tylenol to Hal. Hal stares at it, feeling like a complete and utter asshole.

“I promise, I won’t make a fuss if there doesn’t have to be one.”

Now Hal feels his own tension in his shoulders building, water pressure behind a damn. When it breaks, he lets out a long, low groan, running a hand over his own face. “Goddamnit,” he mutters under his own breath, reaching out and snatching the thermometer from the table in front of him. He turns the thing on, the innocuous beep sounding out of place in the conversation. “Stop being so damn reasonable.”

With that, he shoves the thermometer under his tongue.

“Come on, you wouldn’t have me any other way.” Before Hal can cross his arms against his chest again, Barry gently grasps his hand, placing the bottle of Tylenol into his palm.

Barry stands, making his way into the kitchen, and any leftover tension in the room almost visibly dissipates. As Barry fiddles with the pot on the stove, Hal considers the abandoned blanket once more. Frowning at the thermometer in his mouth, he crosses his eyes briefly in an attempt to read the numbers, but all he can see is a seven right before it switches to eight.

“‘Ow long’sh if fake?” Hall asks around the thermometer. Just how the hell does Barry talk so clearly around pens?

“I dunno,” Barry answers from the kitchen, tone slightly defensive. “Haven’t used it in so long.” Then, almost as an afterthought, “And don’t talk. It’ll skew the results.”

Hal rolls his eyes, grabbing the blanket from the couch and unceremoniously wrapping it around his shoulders. He sighs exasperated around the thermometer, staring at the patterns of the textured ceiling.

“I can practically hear you rolling your eyes.” Barry fiddles with the knobs on the stove before moving the pot onto another burner. “Just give it a-”

The thermometer beeps. Hal goes to take the thing out of his mouth, but it’s suddenly no longer there. Instead, Barry’s standing in front of him, examining the numbers closely. “Hey, no fair.”

He frowns. “You were just gonna turn it off without showing me if you didn’t like the results.”

“So?”

Barry shoots him a half-hearted disapproving glare.

Hal shrugs, maintaining an air of nonchalance.

“Here,” Barry hands the thermometer over to Hal. He snatches it up, immediately staring at the digital, grey and green display. _100.9_. “It’s not bad, but Tylenol might help you feel a bit better, especially if you’re feeling achy.”

“Which was the plan anyway.” Hal frowns at the bottle, having to match up the ridiculous arrows before popping the lid off. He doesn’t even bother skimming the packaging to try finding the dosage directions. “How many?”

“Two.” Barry pauses, halfway to the kitchen before backtracking. “Or up to two… I think. Hang on.” He holds out a hand for the bottle.

“You don’t remember?” Hal half-laughs, incredulous. He hands the bottle over, making sure not to spill.

“It’s been a while. And you don’t either,” Barry practically huffs, turning his head to the side to read the small script.

“Bartholomew Allen. You mean to tell me that you, a forensic scientist, can’t remember the standard dose of… what’s the not-brand-name?”

“Acetaminophen.”

“Yeah, that.”

“I know the dosage in milligrams.”

Hal tries his best not to ruin his feigned shock by laughing at the embarrassed blush now rising to Barry’s face.

“Just don’t remember how many milligrams were in one pill.” Barry practically shoves the bottle back in Hal’s face. “Two. The answer is two.”

And now Hal laughs freely, taking the bottle and getting two of the small, generic white pills.

“Jerk,” Barry mutters under his breath, stalking off back to the kitchen. He busies himself with bowls and cabinets and soup, very pointedly not looking in Hal’s direction.

Hal takes a quick swig of cold water to chase the medicine. When he speaks, he makes sure to add an extra layer of smugness to the point of almost sounding obnoxious. “You wouldn’t have me any other way.”

Barry walks over with two bowls of soup, handing one over to Hal with a begrudging look on his face. He takes a seat beside Hal on the couch, turning the TV on and waiting for Netflix to load. “You’re incorrigible.”

Hal holds the warm bowl in his hands, waiting for it to cool down before digging in. “I maintain my previous statement.” After a beat, he asks airily, “You can't really use medication, right?”

“Yeah?” Barry flips through the menus, only sparing a quick questioning glance in Hal's direction. “Metabolism burns right through it.”

“And you had a brand new bottle?”

“The last one was expired.”

Hal sets the spoon down, turning to level Barry a discerning look. “And you just happened to have a _brand new_ one? Just laying around.”

“I _may_ have bought it just in case.”

“In case…” Hal raised his eyebrows expectantly.

Barry steals another fleeting glance. “Someone else might've needed it.” He shoves a spoonful of beef and barley soup into his mouth almost as soon as he’s finished speaking.

Hal smirks, grabbing the remote from Barry and selecting one of the shows. “And you say _I'm_ incorrigible.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to [equiknoxious](http://equiknoxious.tumblr.com/) for graciously being my beta reader and general giver of best encouragement.
> 
> And thank you to [mimonadraws](https://mimonadraws.tumblr.com/) for [this lovely picture](https://mimonadraws.tumblr.com/post/165828706118/from-this-rly-cute-fic-by-nokochaoli-pls-go-read). It's such an honor.
> 
> Lyrics from _You Matter To Me_ by Sara Bareilles.


End file.
